


fictions we took to mean fate

by acornsofthemind



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Emotionally Constipated Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Fae & Fairies, Fae Jaskier | Dandelion, Fae Magic, Feral Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Has Feelings, Geraskier Midsummer Mini Bang (The Witcher), Good Friend Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Hurt Jaskier | Dandelion, Idiots in Love, Immortal Jaskier | Dandelion, Insecure Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Language of Flowers, M/M, Miscommunication, Mutual Pining, Past Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Post-Episode: S01E06 Rare Species, Protective Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Protective Jaskier | Dandelion, Requited Unrequited Love, Roach is the Best (The Witcher), Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg is So Done, idiots to lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-12
Updated: 2020-07-12
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:40:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25212568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/acornsofthemind/pseuds/acornsofthemind
Summary: Different species have different ways of recognizing their soulmates, but very few know this.Jaskier realized that Geralt was his soulmate the second they met, but when Geralt didn’t react—and even tried to scare him off—he knew he had to ease Geralt into the situation. Witchers supposedly didn’t feel emotions, but Jaskier was confident that he could teach his soulmate what love was.Geralt found his soulmate by punching him in the stomach. No one had ever had a witcher for a soulmate, so Jaskier understandably never said anything. That was fine. Geralt didn’t want to have a soulmate anyway.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 44
Kudos: 1214
Collections: Geraskier Midsummer Mini Bang





	fictions we took to mean fate

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Battle Cries by The Amazing Devils
> 
> Thank you to my wonderful [artist](https://help-idontknowwhattodraw.tumblr.com/) and my betas myst and [aedwritesfic](https://aedwritesfic.tumblr.com/)!  
> It was great to work on this with all of you!

Jaskier’s favorite color was yellow. It was the color of the sun, of warmth and light. It was the color of coins dropped in his lute case after a good performance. It was the color of his favorite flowers—buttercups and dandelions and daffodils[1]—standing out against the grey background of the surrounding field.

Sure, yellow was the only color he could see, but that didn’t change the fact that it was his favorite. Even if he could see every color there was, he doubted that any would be more spectacular.

After all—as he’d just discovered, standing in a dingy tavern with a piece of bread down his pants—yellow was the color of his soulmate’s eyes.

The witcher’s eyes were so striking—and the tavern was so dim—that Jaskier barely registered as color bled into the rest of his vision. The realization floated slowly into his consciousness and his breath caught in his throat, heart racing, as he stared mutely at the man before him. His _soulmate_.

And then the witcher stood and left the tavern without so much as a second glance, leaving Jaskier speechless in a different way.

 _Witchers don’t have soulmates_ , he thought, numbly. _They don’t feel emotions._

He had heard the tales—meant to scare misbehaving children—of the monster hunters who couldn't love, but that was unacceptable. Destiny wouldn’t be so cruel as to tie him to someone who’d never return his feelings. If witchers could have soulmates, they _had_ to be able to feel something. Jaskier would just have to teach his soulmate what love was.

It was like something out of a ballad—romantic in theory, but sure to be a nightmare in real life. Well, Jaskier wasn’t the type to back down from a challenge.

He’d left the Court to find his soulmate and explore the world. Part one accomplished. It may not have gone how he expected, but he still had a world left to explore.

Geralt pushed the door closed with a relieved sigh. He could still hear Jaskier, strumming his lute in the room below. Geralt had lost count of how many repetitions of _Toss_ _a Coin_ it had been at this point, but the bard was still getting a much warmer reception than he had earlier in the day.

He began pulling his armor off, absentmindedly checking it for damage and wear as he half-listened to the bard. Perhaps traveling with him for a time wouldn’t be so bad. He was annoying— _Gods_ , was he annoying—but he’d already started to improve Geralt’s reputation with a single song. Maybe—

The glove in his hand fell to the floor as he stared at the back of his hand numbly. The flowers on the back of his fingers were _colorful_. _How_ could they be—

Oh.

_Oh no._

The realization hit him like _he_ was the one who’d been punched in the gut, washing the numbness away with a wave of _horror_. He noted distantly that Jaskier had gone silent in the room below him, though he wasn’t sure if that was actually true, or if he’d just lost the ability to hear as the walls around him caved in.

This _couldn’t_ be happening. Witchers weren’t meant to have soulmates. They weren’t human. They didn’t have human lives—normal lives. They were bound to kill monsters until the day they grew too slow and were killed. It was a thankless job and a miserable life that no mortal would want to be part of. And honestly, Geralt wouldn’t _want_ to drag anyone into this life.

The door to the room beside him creaked open. Geralt caught the soft, hollow thud of a lute being placed on a table. Jaskier was humming softly—was he _ever_ quiet?—as he started to get ready for bed. He wouldn’t normally be listening—wouldn’t care to listen—but today, the quiet sounds coming from the room next door were the only thing he could focus on.

That was his _soulmate_ next door. His soulmate who shouldn’t exist. He was still standing by the dresser, staring blankly at the wall in front of him. He felt stripped raw. He’d never expected this. He had no idea what to do. Impulsively, he turned towards the door. The short trek from his room to the hallway felt like an eternity, but here he was, standing in front of his soulmate’s door. He lifted his hand to knock—

And promptly dropped it. Jaskier was his soulmate, but—but the bard hadn’t _said_ anything. Surely he wasn’t punched in the stomach _that_ often. He must have realized. Or if he hadn’t realized right away, he would’ve figured it out a few moments ago, when he’d dropped his shirt to the floor. Surely, the bard would seek him out to say something; he never shut up about mundane topics, so why would he stay silent about finding his soulmate? He was probably just processing the fact that his soulmate was somehow, inexplicably, a witcher, someone who shouldn’t have had a soulmate in the first place.

Mind made up, he took a deep breath and turned back to his room. He settled on the bed to wait. He’d let the bard take the lead.

Geralt wasn’t sure how long he sat there, lost in thought, before he realized that Jaskier’s breathing had evened out. He’d fallen asleep. How had he fallen asleep knowing that his soulmate was only a door away? Maybe he hadn’t noticed the mark? It _was_ late, and while the day hadn’t been particularly taxing for Geralt, it obviously wasn’t the sort of thing that Jaskier was accustomed to. He must have fallen asleep without even seeing that his mark had changed. But he’d certainly mention it in the morning.

He didn’t. When Jaskier met him in the stables—bright and chirpy and already nattering about what possible monsters they might face next, a sharp contrast to Geralt, groggy and grumpy from his fitful sleep—the word “soulmate” didn’t even pass his lips.

And, well, Geralt could take a hint. Honestly, this was for the best. He didn’t believe in Destiny anyway, and he didn’t need the bard following him around, being a walking liability, just because of some stupid marks on his skin.

“How do you think this color looks on me?” Jaskier held the gold doublet under his chin.

Geralt glanced over at him, quirking an eyebrow after a moment. “Fine?”

Jaskier fought back a frown. That wasn’t a particularly helpful answer. He put the doublet aside and grabbed the next option, a soft teal jacket. “How about this? Does it match the color of my eyes?”

Geralt sighed quietly, but he stepped closer, dutifully, casting a critical eye over the garment. “Not quite. Your eyes are more blue. And the jacket is too dark. The gold is better.” And then, as if suddenly realizing that he’d spoken in multiple full sentences to someone other than his horse, Geralt ducked his head, quickly moving back to where he’d been cleaning his armor.

“Thanks,” Jaskier chirped, grinning at his back. “The teal is a bit too big for me anyway. You can wear it to the ball. It’ll bring out the gold in your eyes.”

Geralt hummed in response, miraculously managing to convey both acknowledgment of his wardrobe and displeasure at the reminder of the ball with the single noise. Jaskier ignored him, whistling cheerfully. This ball was going to be a _blast_.

He had not meant “blast” in the literal sense, but it seemed that Destiny had some other plans for the evening.

The ball had started well enough: Jaskier’s music being well-liked, only one angry husband finding him, Geralt rescuing him from said angry husband (Geralt had insulted him but looked so _happy_ and amused while doing so that Jaskier couldn’t bring himself to be too mad about it). And then Dunny arrived to claim the Law of Surprise and everything promptly went to hell.

And then, _and then_ , Geralt, the absolute dumbass that he was, claimed the Law of Surprise and Pavetta immediately vomited. Jaskier briefly contemplated cutting his time in the human realm short and heading back home because he just could _not_ handle this. What had he done to deserve an utter idiot for a soulmate? Sure, he might want kids at some point, but that was a discussion two people had together. You weren’t supposed to just accidentally claim a baby without even consulting your partner. It was, frankly, quite rude. (It was also rather ironic that, out of the two of them, the non-fae was the one running around stealing people’s babies.)

Jaskier snorted at the thought, trotting after Geralt as they returned to their room at the inn. “Well, other than that last-minute, terrible decision you made, I think that party went fairly well.”

“Hm.”

“Come on, don’t give me that.” Jaskier bumped their shoulders together and grinned up at him. “You have to admit it: All the drama was pretty fun. Almost makes me miss my days at Court. _Almost._ ”

“Hm.” The corners of Geralt’s lips twitched up slightly, and Jaskier nearly crowed at the success.

“ _Fine._ Be that way,” Jaskier said, rolling his eyes dramatically. “See if I help you the next time you’re covered in a disgusting amount of monster guts.”

“Geralt, which is more romantic? The moon or the stars?”

Geralt tilted his head, shooting him a puzzled look. “Why?”

“My new ballad. I’m trying to decide which one to compare your hair to.”

Geralt froze midstep. Jaskier was honestly impressed that he hadn’t face planted. “I… have to go feed Roach.”

Jaskier was a kind, loving, and incredibly patient soulmate, so he did not mention the fact that they were literally walking back from feeding Roach together. He nodded indulgently, continuing into the inn. Might as well make some money while he waited for Geralt to recover. He’d probably play through four or five songs before the witcher felt brave enough to try to sneak past him to their room.

“ _Damn it_ ,” Jaskier hissed, trying to peel the front of his shirt away from his chest. The cut wasn’t deep, but the blood had started to dry, gluing his shirt to it. Honestly, this might be more painful than the actual cut had been.

He was so distracted that he didn’t notice that the door had opened until Geralt drew in a sharp breath. “You’re hurt.”

Jaskier flinched, surprised, and succeeded in tearing the fabric from his skin in one fell swoop. When he looked up at Geralt, the witcher wore an ugly, guilty expression. “It’s really not that bad,” Jaskier tried to assure him, though it was probably undermined by the way he’d just whimpered.

Geralt let out a quiet, disbelieving scoff and crossed the room to stand before him. Before Jaskier could muster up a word to ask him what he was doing, Geralt’s hands were on the hem of his shirt.

“Never mind me,” Jaskier said, batting his hands away. “Are _you_ okay? The men who hired you were laughing about how it wasn’t actually a giant centipede that you were going after. What was it? A wyvern? A forktail? A _slyzard_?”

Geralt’s lips twitched up into a tiny smile and caught his flailing arms. “Why do you always jump to thinking it’ll be a draconid? It was a couple of ghouls. No trouble at all.”

Jaskier let out a relieved sigh, going limp in the witcher’s hold. “Oh thank god. They were idiots. And I jump to draconids because your luck is terrible.”

Geralt snorted and grabbed his shirt again, gently easing it over his head, carefully avoiding the wound on his chest. When the cut was revealed, Geralt hissed in sympathy.

“Oh,” Jaskier said, feeling vaguely faint. “It looks much worse than I expected.”

“‘It’s really not that bad’,” Geralt repeated, mockingly.

Jaskier glowered. “In my defense, I hadn’t actually seen it yet. That said, if I don’t sit down immediately, I’m going to pass out.”

Geralt rudely scoffed at him again but helped ease him down to sit on the foot of the bed. “Stay,” he ordered, like Jaskier was an unruly hunting dog. Jaskier was too exhausted to mention it, but they’d be having words in the future.

Geralt turned away, rifling through his saddlebags to find the potions that were safe for humans (and, hopefully, non-witcher non-humans). “So, what exactly happened to you?” he asked, tone conspicuously casual.

“I told you: the men downstairs were laughing about how they’d sent you out after _something_ that wasn’t a giant centipede.”

Jaskier didn’t need to see the witcher’s face to know he was rolling his eyes. “ _Yes_ , but that doesn’t explain how you got injured.”

“Oh.” Jaskier looked down, plucking at a stray thread on the blanket. When he spoke again, his voice was quiet, “I was trying to get more information out of them. When they didn’t have anything useful to say, I may have lost my temper a bit.”

“You took on all four of them?” Geralt shot him an incredulous look, crossing the room with a jar of poultice and a clean, damp cloth.

He set his jaw, tilting his head up to meet Geralt’s gaze. “There wasn’t anything I could do to help you, but I _could_ make them regret lying and putting you in danger.” His smile probably had too many teeth—too _sharp_ teeth, his glamour not sitting quite right due to the lingering anxiety—but he didn’t have the energy to care. “One of them just happened to get a lucky swipe.”

Geralt kneeled in front of him, starting to wash away the dried blood around the cut. “You don’t have to get into fights on my behalf.”

“I know,” Jaskier said, voice soft. “I don’t _have_ to, but I will. You deserve better than that.”

Geralt’s brow furrowed, and he opened his mouth— And then his eyes flicked down slightly, and he froze, face going strangely blank.

Jaskier waited a beat, two beats, and then asked, tentatively, “Geralt?”

The witcher jolted—Jaskier was almost tempted to call it a flinch—at the sound of his voice. Then, with a slow exhale, he started moving again, gently washing out the cut. His hands seemed to tremble ever so slightly as he put down the rag and grabbed the poultice.

Geralt couldn’t help himself from sliding his eyes down, desperate to see what mark would represent him, a witcher, an unwanted soulmate. (Though, if Jaskier had risked his life by fighting four men to defend him, perhaps he wasn’t so unwanted after all.) His eyes were met only with bare skin, unblemished by anything other than a faint scar. _Oh_.

“Geralt?”

He hadn’t realized that his hands had stilled until Jaskier spoke. He breathed out slowly, pushing the discovery to the back of his mind for the moment. Jaskier’s wound still needed to be tended to. He could think about what he’d seen— _hadn’t_ seen—later.

He finished washing away the blood and started to cover the wound with a poultice. His hands moved quickly and methodically, trying to finish as soon as possible. Though he was still gentle, always conscious of the fact that Jaskier was a human, far more fragile than a witcher. He didn’t want to injure Jaskier further.

He couldn’t suppress the slight shake in his hands. He hoped Jaskier didn’t notice or at least wouldn’t ask about it. He couldn’t possibly offer the bard any explanation for why he was suddenly feeling so off-kilter. He didn’t even fully understand _what_ he was feeling at the moment—at the discovery that Jaskier didn’t have a soulmark on his stomach. The discovery that while Jaskier might be his soulmate, _he_ wasn’t _Jaskier’s_ soulmate.

Jaskier burst into their room with an excited, “Geralt!”

“Hm?” Geralt spared him a quick glance before returning his attention to his armor. There’d been rumors of an arachas in the nearby swamp, and he wanted to start tracking it before night fell.

Jaskier was happy to stay in town this time, not feeling the need to tag along to a swamp just to watch Geralt kill an “overgrown spider.” Geralt hadn’t expected to see him again before he returned from his hunt; there was a Beltane festival, the streets filled with vendors, and the bard was like a magpie when it came to shiny trinkets.

“I got you something!” he said, practically vibrating with excitement. “Close your eyes and hold out your hands!”

Geralt rolled his eyes but did as he asked. Jaskier waited for a second and then passed him what felt like a handful of leaves. He opened his eyes.

It was a handful of leaves. (And a few flowers and berries.)

He stared at Jaskier flatly.

“Do you like it?” the bard asked nervously, wringing his hands.

“Uh.”

Jaskier looked dejected for a moment before he ducked his head to avoid Geralt’s gaze. His hands flew up to cover his mouth as his breath hitched, and he made a small, choked noise. Geralt almost panicked—had he really made him cry because of a bunch of leaves?—but before he could do anything to try to fix it, Jaskier snorted loudly.

The noise seemed to break whatever self-control Jaskier had because he collapsed onto the bed with a grin. He wasn’t crying; he was laughing. Geralt hid his relief with a scowl, which just seemed to set the bard off more.

After a few moments, Jaskier managed to catch his breath enough to gasp out, “Sorry. Sorry, I just couldn’t resist.” He sat up and reached into his bag. “Here’s your actual gift.”

Geralt set the leaves on the table and cautiously accepted the package, shooting Jaskier a suspicious look.

“I promise it’s not more leaves. Well, technically…” he trailed off, watching Geralt expectantly.

With trepidation, Geralt tore off the paper. His breath caught in his throat. It was a pair of bracers, intricately embossed with a mountain ash tree in the center, surrounded by a pattern of flowers—crepis, traveller’s joy, and larkspur—and leaves—oak and bay laurel.[2]

“I noticed you’ve been a bit down recently. You don’t have to talk about it, if you aren’t ready, but I was hoping these would cheer you up,” Jaskier explained, wearing a painfully hopeful expression.

There was a lump in his throat, but he managed to force out a gruff, “Thanks.”

Jaskier’s grin was practically blinding, though he waved a hand dismissively. “Of course. I’m assuming that you were hired? You should probably put those on and get going, then.”

Geralt nodded, removing his bracers to put the new ones on. He pretended not to see Jaskier grabbing the pile of leaves and slipping them into his saddlebags. After the new bracers were on, he swore his medallion began to vibrate slightly, a faint scent of peppermint filling the air. He couldn’t recognize any magic on them, so he brushed the feeling off.

“So, an arachas, right? I’ll see you in a couple days?”

Geralt hummed noncommittally, grabbed his saddlebags, and stepped out of the room. He caught a glimpse of Jaskier’s face—confused and worried—before shutting the door.

It was suddenly all too much. Being around Jaskier, getting gifts and smiles and songs written about him, all while knowing that they weren’t soulmates. That one day Jaskier would find his real soulmate, and Geralt would be alone again. He couldn’t do it anymore.

He didn’t even bother collecting his payment. He just killed the monster and kept riding.

The next time they bumped into each other, Jaskier acted like nothing had happened, like Geralt hadn’t abandoned him with no warning. He didn’t mention it, just resumed traveling with him and writing songs about his hunts like usual.

Geralt tried to keep more distance, brushing off Jaskier’s offers to tend to his wounds or wash his hair. It was better this way, he told himself, even as he felt strangely off-kilter and adrift. He hadn’t realized how close Jaskier had gotten, how much casual affection he showed him, until he stepped back and put up a barrier between them again.

Jaskier kept throwing worried looks at him whenever he thought Geralt couldn’t see, and the guilt ate at him.

So when Yennefer—skin flawless, her mark stripped away by her transformation, just like his should have been—kissed him, he couldn’t bring himself to push her away. Maybe this would make traveling with Jaskier hurt less.

“If life could give me one blessing, it would be to take you off my hands.”

Jaskier reeled back like it’d been a physical blow. He wished it had been—the punch in the stomach had been far less painful than the words that were just flung at him. The punch had hurt, of course, but it had happened when they’d only just met. And he’d hit a sore spot by calling Geralt the Butcher of Blaviken.

But this? This was completely uncalled for. He knew that Geralt didn’t love the idea of Destiny, didn’t want to be his soulmate. (He got that message loud and clear when Geralt first slept with Yennefer.) But that didn’t mean that the words didn’t hurt. The idea of his soulmate hating his company, not even liking him as a friend, not liking him _at all_ , ate at him, flayed him alive. He felt like he was falling apart, the color that Geralt had brought into his life leeching away—no, wait, that wasn’t just metaphorical.

Jaskier’s feet stuttered to a halt and he blinked slowly at the plants covering the mountainside. The colors were all wrong, and it took him a long, agonizing moment to figure out why.

He couldn’t see yellow. The flowers that he had noticed while walking up, that he _knew_ were yellow—tansy and gorse and yarrow—were now an unsettling, lifeless grey, not a drop of yellow in sight.

Great. So along with breaking his heart, Geralt had also stolen his favorite color.

His mark was fading. He'd never seen anything like it before, not even when he went through the Trials. Back then, his mark had blackened, the flowers shriveling and dying. But then new flowers had grown along his fingers: buttercups and dandelions, forget-me-nots and columbine, speedwell and rose campion, heliotrope and coreopsis.[3] Weeds that could withstand anything, even the creation of a witcher, the process that removed soul marks.

Now, though. Now the color was leeching from them as if they were withering, life bleeding away, as if _Jaskier_ was—

Yellow was the only color left by the time he found Yennefer.

“Oh. Huh.”

“What?”

“Geralt, do you,” Yen paused, uncharacteristically hesitant, “ _know_ where Jaskier’s home is?”

He huffed. “Obviously not. That’s why I came to you to track him down.”

“You could have simply been coming to me to create a portal for you,” she muttered. “But I suspected as much.” He ignored the way she hissed “You absolute idiot,” under her breath.

“So, can you do it?” he asked, exasperated.

She glared at him. “Of course I can. What do you take me for, an eel? But first”—she spun around, rooting through a cabinet behind her—“you’ll need something to keep you safe. Yes, yes, I know you’re a witcher and are fully capable of killing many people. But if you don’t return, Roach will kill _me_ , and neither of us want that. Ah, here it is!”

She turned back and handed him—a nail? “This is a nail.”

“It has a powerful protection spell on it,” she said, flatly.

Geralt was quite certain that it didn’t, but he didn’t have the time or energy to get into an argument with Yennefer over a _nail_ of all things.

She opened a portal. “Good luck. Be careful.”

“Thank you,” he said, stepping towards it.

“ _Don’t_ lose that nail,” she ordered.

And then the portal snapped shut behind him.

“Julian, your”—the guard paused, mouth curling in distaste—“ _pet_ is here.”

 _Pet?_ What could that possibly be?

The guard noticed his confusion and clarified: “The witcher.”

Geralt? Oh no. _Oh no._ Jaskier hurried after the guard, praying that he was mistaken and that Geralt wasn’t a dumbass who had followed him into the Otherworld.

He was not mistaken. Geralt was a dumbass who had followed him into the Otherworld.

Geralt’s face lit up when he came into view, and Jaskier hastily looked away, thrown by both the relief he’d seen and the hideous, empty grey that his eyes had become. He slumped against the wall and sighed, biting back some harsh words about how stupid it had been for Geralt to follow him. To be fair, the witcher probably hadn’t _known_ what kind of mess he’d be creating by coming here.

“Jask—”

“Why are you even here, witcher?” Jaskier asked, cutting him off.

After a long, agonizing silence, Geralt said, quietly, “I was worried about you.”

“Oh. W—” Jaskier’s voice broke, and he cleared his throat. “Why were you worried?”

“My ma—” Geralt stopped, and Jaskier risked a glance at him. He was staring at the wall somewhere above Jaskier’s head, jaw clenched. He let out a slow, measured breath, and started again, “I thought you might be in danger.” He tilted his head slightly, and Jaskier followed the silent signal, eyes landing on the guard. She was standing far enough back to give them some semblance of privacy, but she was still within hearing range.

Jaskier stifled another sigh. This would be so much easier if they were actually alone, if they could speak plainly with each other. He didn’t bother asking why Geralt had thought he might be in danger; he obviously wouldn’t be getting an answer while they had an audience. “Well, I’m perfectly... safe here.”

“Are you happy, though?” Geralt asked quietly, hesitantly.

Jaskier bit his lip, pausing for a long moment. He resolutely did not look at the guard, his eyes finally meeting Geralt’s. “Yes,” he said, eventually.

Geralt shot him a dubious look. “You could come back with me.”

“Why should I?” Jaskier glared. “Why do you even want that? You made your opinion pretty clear on that mountain.” He continued before Geralt could answer, “Besides, it’s not that simple. I made a bargain, and now, I have to fulfill my end of it by staying here,” Jaskier said. “But _you_ have to go back. Don’t worry about me.”

“No.”

Jaskier scoffed, rolling his eyes. “Really, you—”

“I’m not leaving without you.”

Gods, Geralt could be unbearably stubborn at the worst times. Jaskier glanced back at the guard. She’d dropped any pretense of not listening, watching them with sharp eyes, clearly ready to report any interesting parts of their conversation back to the queen. He stepped closer to Geralt, voice dropping. “Please, be reasonable; it’s going to be hard enough trying to get _you_ out of here. Don’t bring me into it. I knew what I was getting into when I made my deal.”

Confusion flashed briefly across Geralt’s face before it settled back into a mulish glare.

Jaskier rolled his eyes up to the ceiling, suppressing the urge to throttle the witcher. “Fine,” he snapped, “but _I_ am doing all the talking.”

Geralt nodded, surprisingly cooperative. Jaskier stared at him for a second longer before turning to the guard. “We’d like to speak to the queen.”

Queen Reannon stared at him incredulously. “You think you can just leave. Again.”

“Yes?” Jaskier flashed her his best smile.

“Have you forgotten our deal?”

“It’s still midsummer!”

“Midsummer of your twenty-fifth—”

“You said twenty-fifth birth _day_ ,” he cut in. “I was born on a leap year.”

Her face darkened dangerously, and he bit his tongue. It was absurd that she was still mad at him about that. It wasn't _his_ fault that she’d worded the agreement badly. They were _fae_ ; of course he would twist the words in his favor. Really, she should be proud of him.

“Regardless,” she said, after a pause long enough to sufficiently shame him (or rather, a pause that _would_ have been long enough to shame him, if he were anyone else). “The fact that it’s still midsummer hardly matters. I doubt you could find your soulmate, even if you did return for the rest of the day.”

“Well, conveniently, my soulmate came to me. This is Geralt,” he said, gesturing towards Geralt. “So as you can see, my end of the bargain has been upheld, and I should be free to leave.”

“This is your soulmate?” Reannon asked dubiously, eyeing them both.

“Yes,” Geralt said, before Jaskier could reply. “I am Jaskier’s soulmate.”

Alright, why the _hell_ had he used that tone of voice? It was the truth! This was why Jaskier had told him to keep his mouth shut in the first place. Since he didn’t think that he could get away with stabbing the man in the middle of this conversation, he settled for shooting him a glare.

“I can’t just let you leave,” Reannon said, with the air of someone who very much wished that she _could_. “We made a _bargain_.”

“Please? For me?” Jaskier stepped closer, dropping his voice. “Why do you even care?”

“I can’t just go around breaking agreements whenever I want, Jask,” she hissed back, glaring at him.

“But you’re the _queen_. You can do whatever you want.”

Reannon let out a long sigh, looking like she regretted every choice that had led her here. “Do you have any way to prove that you’re actually soulmates?”

“Uh. No?”

“Then I guess you leave me no choice,” she said, raising her hand.

“Re, _wait_ —"

She snapped her fingers, and the room went dark.

Jaskier opened his eyes to an endless tunnel. A thorn pricked his wrist. “Fuck.”

“Hm,” Geralt agreed.

Jaskier jumped in surprise, crashing into the wall of the cave. “ _Gods._ ”

“Sorry,” Geralt said, not sounding especially apologetic. “Did you not realize that they gave us both a xenovox?”

Jaskier glanced down, finally becoming aware of the box clenched in his fist. “No. I was a bit… distracted.” He lifted the lit torch from the wall, eyes darting away from the flowers encircling his wrist. “They give you torches, too?”

There certainly wouldn’t be enough for them to find their way out successfully, but other queens had felt it was best to give people _some_ hope before they inevitably lost their minds (and lives) in the endless caves; it looked like Reannon had decided to keep that tradition. If they ever made it out, Jaskier was going to write her a very rude song.

“Yes.”

“Well,” Jaskier said cheerfully, clapping his hands together, “better start walking. Inevitable demise, here we come.”

“These caves aren’t natural.”

“Oh, really, Geralt? Whatever gave you that idea?” Jaskier couldn’t help the bite in his voice, but honestly. The air was practically _dripping_ with magic; Geralt’s medallion was probably vibrating hard enough to leave a bruise.

Geralt was silent for long enough that Jaskier almost felt guilty. _Almost_. “Do you… What is this place?” he asked tentatively.

“The Cave of Two Lovers,” Jaskier replied quietly. “Legend says that the tunnels are protected by a curse. Only those who put their trust in love can navigate through the maze; those who do not will be lost forever.”

Geralt made a displeased noise. He probably wished it were Yennefer in here. He wouldn’t have any trouble trusting in love to find _her_.

“Yeah,” Jaskier sighed. “Not very helpful.”

“Hey, you wouldn’t happen to have a bracelet of flowers around your wrist, would you?”

“...No?”

“Don’t make that face at me—”

“You can’t even see my face.”

“I don’t need to be able to see you to know exactly what face you’re making. You only have like five expressions you’re capable of, anyway.” Jaskier ignored Geralt’s quiet huff.

“Why were you asking?”

“It’s a charm.” Jaskier bit his lip, hesitating for a moment. “If I break it, I’ll be portalled out of the caves, back to the palace.”

“You should do it.”

“ _Absolutely not_.”

“Jaskier,” Geralt said, voice soft and coaxing. “You said it yourself: This place is a maze. We’re never going to make it out of here on our own. At least one of us should survive this.”

“ _No_ , Geralt. I’m not leaving you to die.”

“But—”

“Just shut up and keep walking.”

Jaskier wasn’t sure how long they’d been walking. Hours, obviously, since their last torches were burning low at this point. He and Geralt had both been marking their routes, carving arrows into the cave walls. But they wouldn’t be particularly helpful once they could no longer see. (Jaskier doubted that they were helpful _now_ , magic hanging thick in the air, likely erasing any evidence of their route. Not that he would tell Geralt that. It wouldn’t help to make the situation even bleaker, their actions even more futile.)

Jaskier paused and announced, “Fork.”

“So”—the soft sound of Geralt’s feet stopped as well—“what now?”

Jaskier let out an exhausted sigh, flipping a coin. “Left.”

Geralt’s voice stopped him before he could step forward. “No, I mean once the torches go out. What’s the plan?”

“The _plan_ ,” Jaskier snapped, glaring into the darkness beyond his torchlight, “was for you to go home and leave me to live with the consequences of my bargain. But you didn’t like that idea, so I guess we’ll just die in here, now.”

“Jaskier.”

“Sorry,” he sighed, leaning against the cave wall. “Just a little stressed at the moment.”

“No, I deserve that. Especially after the way I treated you on the mountain.”

“I told you before: You deserve to be treated better. I’m no exception.”

“You’re the _only_ exception.” He paused for a moment, but before Jaskier could muster up the energy to ask what the hell _that_ meant, he said, “You refused before, but you really should just leave. You’re never going to find me anyway.”

Jaskier let out a slow breath, wishing that Geralt was in front of him so that he could strangle him. “Geralt. Just because we’re fighting doesn’t change the fact that we’re soulmates. I know you don’t like that, but—”

“What?” Geralt asked. "Why do you keep saying that?"

“Really?” Jaskier scoffed. “You think I’m too dumb to realize that you didn’t like the idea of being my soulmate? You and Yennefer weren’t exactly subtle. Not to mention the things you said on the mountain.”

“But—but we’re not soulmates.”

Jaskier sputtered for a moment, utterly incredulous. “Really?! You would think by now, you would’ve learned that Destiny is actually real and that you can’t just will it away. But I guess—”

“Jaskier,” Geralt growled, cutting off the rest of his tirade. “We both know I’m not your soulmate. I saw your stomach. Your _mark-free_ stomach.”

“Mark? What do you mean?”

“Uh, soul mark? Your mark isn’t on your stomach,” Geralt said it in the tone of someone who was answering the stupidest question they’d ever heard. Which was incredibly rude, given the fact that what he was saying was utter nonsense.

“Have I lost track of the time down here?” Jaskier snarked. “Because I don’t think you’re supposed to go insane this quickly, Geralt. Pretty sure it typically happens _after_ the last torch has burned out.”

There was a thud as Geralt presumably smacked his head into the cave wall. Good. Maybe it would knock some sense into him. “What? Insane—? Are you telling me you seriously don’t know what a soul mark is?”

“No, Geralt,” he snapped, tone mocking, “I don’t know what a soul mark is. Is this some sort of weird witcher thing?”

Jaskier heard a faint, baffled, “He doesn’t know what a soul mark is?” from the other end of the xenovox. Geralt drew in a sharp breath. “Okay. Why do you think we’re soulmates?”

“Uh, maybe because our eyes met and my vision colored?” Gods, he knew Geralt could be a bit of an idiot sometimes, but this was really a new low. “You know, the thing that happens when you meet your soulmate?”

“Your vision—? What? No, your _mark_ colors.”

“What are you _talking_ about? I—” Jaskier froze, a sudden, horrible epiphany crashing down on him. He’d been applying fae rules to a human. Was that really what this boiled down to? A stupid interspecies misunderstanding? He breathed out slowly. “Okay. Tell me again how soulmates work.”

“You’re born with a soul mark in the place where you first touch your soulmate or your soulmate touches you. And when you make contact, the mark gains color. How do you not know this? I’m a _witcher_ , and I know how marks work.”

Jaskier giggled, the sound only mostly hysterical. “That’s not how it works for me. But you _are_ my soulmate.”

“What? Why wouldn’t it be the same for you? You’re human.”

He’s _what now_? “Geralt. Geralt, you beautiful idiot. Did you just say I was human?”

“Yes?” Geralt replied, the word drawn out uncertainly.

“We traveled together for years! You’re in the fucking Otherworld right now! How did you not realize that I’m fae?”

“Hm.”

“ _Yeah_.”

“Well. That explains some things.”

“I _bet_ it does. My gods, Geralt. This is honestly embarrassing. It’s your whole job to find monsters.”

“You’re not a monster.”

“Sweet, but you’re not getting off the hook that easily. How did you even _get_ here? Good luck ever living this one down.”

“Yen opened a portal for me.” Huh. He honestly hadn’t known that was possible. “And that’s assuming we both live through this.”

“We’re both getting out of here. We’re _soulmates_. We can find each other.” His gaze fell to the flowers around his wrist: dame’s rocket, eglantine, white catchfly, and virgin's bower, braided with grass and buttercups[4]. He scowled. Even if they hadn’t been soulmates, he never would have left Geralt. He’d have figured out _some_ way to find him. “Speaking of, we should probably start walking a—”

The torch sputtered out. Jaskier shut his eyes, tipping his head back against the cave wall with an exhausted sigh. Typical.

Wait.

The buttercups on his wrist had been _yellow_.

Jaskier’s eyes snapped open, and he squinted. Because instead of total darkness, the cave was lit by a soft glow, a line of luminescent crystals embedded in the ceiling.

He bolted to his feet, energy thrumming through him. _Love is brightest in the dark._ “I know how to get out of here! We have to follow the crystals.”

“Okay, but which way?”

“Oh. Hm.”

They figured it out pretty quickly: The crystals changed color as they moved, leading them towards each other. Above Jaskier’s head, they were a bright blue, the color of forget-me-nots. Behind him, they faded, becoming the light purple of pennyroyal and lavender.[5] In front of him, the colors became brighter and warmer. And in the distance, glowing brighter than all of the other crystals, was a hint of yellow, leading him in the right direction.

Jaskier leaned against the wall, trying not to pant too loudly. He’d taken off running, imagining that he would find Geralt quickly and throw himself into the witcher’s arms. It would have been terribly romantic.

He hadn’t considered how large the caves were or how far apart they might have been when their torches died. So instead of romantically running into Geralt’s arms, he’d just run through the tunnels until he was exhausted. His legs felt like jelly. It was a good thing he _hadn’t_ reached Geralt yet; the witcher would probably make fun of him if he could see him.

“Geralt?” he asked, luckily only sounding a little out of breath. (Not that it really mattered; the witcher had no doubt heard his footsteps over the xenovox). “Where, uh— Where are you?”

“In a tunnel.”

“You are the absolute worst. Why do I even bother?”

Geralt chuckled softly, and Jaskier couldn’t keep himself from grinning.

“The tunnel’s been straight for a while. And _yes_ ,” he said, before Jaskier could even open his mouth to ask the question, “the crystals above my head are still yellow, and I’m still following the blue ones. I’ll let you know if anything changes.”

“Okay, good.” Jaskier pushed himself off of the wall. His legs still felt a little wobbly, but he should probably keep moving.

"You never explained why you were worried about me,” Jaskier said, and Geralt’s eyes automatically fell to his hand. Huh. Was that a reflection from the crystals, or—? No, some of the flowers were definitely blue again.

“—alive, Geralt? If you just died, I’m going to be really cross with you.”

Geralt blinked and shook his head slightly. How long had he been frozen, staring blankly at his mark? He started walking again. “My mark started to fade.”

“Hm. I assume that’s not typical?”

“No. I’ve never heard of anyone’s mark changing before—other than gaining color, obviously. Or fading from the trials. I didn’t notice it right away, but between that and the way you just seemed to vanish after our fight, I figured that it meant you were in serious trouble.”

“Oh,” Jaskier replied, sounding vaguely strangled. “You looked for me?”

Geralt hummed. “Of course I did. I tried to track you through the Kestrel Mountains, but your trail disappeared in the ruins of the stronghold.”

Jaskier let out a shaky breath. “I was so mad that I went back to the Court right away. Which was stupid of me; I knew how much I hate being there, but... staying on the Continent didn’t seem worth it without you. If I hadn’t been so impulsive, we wouldn’t be in this mess. Sorry about that.”

“No,” Geralt snapped. “I’m the one who should be apologizing. I lashed out at you for no reason, and I hate that I hurt you so much. I’m so sorry, Jaskier.”

“Well, apology accepted, Geralt,” Jaskier said, and he could hear the grin in his voice. A weight lifted off his shoulders, and he felt lighter than he had in months.

He was nearly there. Jaskier wasn’t sure how he knew, but he could _feel_ it, sense it in the air around him. He turned a corner, a grin already in place, and—

 _There_.

Their eyes met, and Jaskier was rooted to the spot. Had Geralt’s eyes always been so _gold_? Or was it just the way they reflected the light of the crystals, making it look like they were glowing?

“Jaskier,” Geralt breathed, and then he was rushing forward, sweeping the bard into a tight, bone-crushing hug. Jaskier buried his face in his shoulder, letting out a sigh of relief, the tension—the _fear_ —draining out of him. He hadn’t realized how on edge he’d been, but now he felt _exhausted_.

As much as he wanted to stay here forever, limp in Geralt’s arms as the witcher supported his weight, they still had to find their way out of the tunnels. And have a conversation about what being soulmates meant for their relationship. He shifted, pulling away slightly. Geralt’s arms tightened for a second like he was reluctant to let him go, before relaxing. Jaskier shifted back just far enough to meet his eyes.

“Okay. So we’ve established that we’re soulmates.” Geralt nodded slowly, face pinched like he was worried that Jaskier might reveal that it was all a cruel trick. “But we still have some things we need to discuss.”

“Hm.” Geralt’s arms dropped, and he stepped back. Jaskier shivered slightly at the rush of cool air but let him have his space.

“Yeah, yeah. _Talking_ about things is your least favorite activity, but I’ve had my fill of miscommunication for the day. Probably for the next few decades, really.” 

Geralt winced, and Jaskier stepped closer. He pitched his voice low, soothing, “Hey, no. I’m not mad at you, I promise. I just… have some questions.”

Geralt nodded again, though he crossed his arms over his chest defensively. “All right. What do you want to know?”

“I know you thought we weren’t soulmates after seeing that I didn’t have a mark. But Geralt, we knew each other for _years_ before that happened. Why didn’t you ever say something before that?”

“Because _you_ never mentioned it,” Geralt said with surprising bitterness.

Jaskier blinked. “What?”

“If we were soulmates, you would have _said_ something.”

Jaskier sputtered. “I would have said something? You’re the emotionally repressed witcher! I thought you would bring it up when you felt ready. I didn’t want to push you out of your comfort zone. I was being considerate! And then Yennefer happened, and clearly you didn’t have any problem recognizing your feelings for _her_. So...”

“Oh.” Geralt’s voice was suddenly tiny. “I thought you didn’t want me. Didn’t want a soulmate who was a _witcher_.”

Jaskier let out a wounded sound. “Oh, Geralt, _no_. How could I not want you? You’re”—he waved an arm, gesturing at all of Geralt—“ _you_. Are you forgetting how I propositioned you the second we met?”

“That was before you knew who I was.”

“It was also before I knew you were my soulmate.”

Geralt was staring off to the side, jaw tight. Jaskier sighed and stepped closer, resting his hands on his shoulders. Geralt blinked in surprise, but his arms came up automatically to wrap around Jaskier’s waist. “Wait. You were propositioning me?”

“Yes? What did you think I was doing?”

He hesitated before admitting, “I… thought you were scared.”

“You thought I was scared,” Jaskier said slowly, as though the words might start to make sense if he drew them out for long enough. Nope. They still didn’t make sense. “ _Why?_ ”

Geralt glared at him. “I could hear your heart racing, and your eyes were dilated, and—” He stopped. “Oh.”

Jaskier giggled. “Geralt, you’re so stupid sometimes.” A small frown marred Geralt’s face, but Jaskier pressed on, “But you’re also so sweet. And kind. And more human than half the men who hire you. You’re a good person, and anyone who wouldn’t love you is an utter idiot.”

Geralt blushed, looking small and vulnerable, clearly not sure how to handle the praise. Jaskier could see the gears turning, the question forming. Time to deal the final blow.

“I love you.”

Geralt’s eyes widened. “You— You love me?”

“Yes, you dummy. Why do you think I stuck around all those years?”

“ _Oh_.” And his face went so _soft_. Warm and pleased. His arms tightened, pulling Jaskier a bit closer. “I love you, too,” he breathed, and then he tilted his head down to catch Jaskier’s lips in a soft kiss.

Jaskier was grateful that Geralt was holding him up because otherwise, he _would_ have swooned. He buried his hands in Geralt’s hair, tilting his head to deepen the kiss. After a long moment, Geralt pulled away, and Jaskier made a noise of protest, embarrassingly close to a whine. He felt more than heard Geralt’s chuckle, which abruptly cut off as he shifted back.

Jaskier opened his eyes to find Geralt staring at him in awe, brushing his thumb across his cheekbone. “You look different.” Geralt’s eyes roamed across his face, and Jaskier realized with a jolt that his glamor had fallen. A blush spread across his cheeks.

“Is— Is that okay?”

Geralt nodded jerkily. “Yeah,” he said, and the look in his eyes made Jaskier _dizzy_. He grabbed Geralt’s hand before he could give in to the desire to drag him into another heart-stopping kiss.

“Come on,” he said, glancing up. There was only one tunnel lit up—yellow and blue lights weaving together—leading them back to the mortal world. Jaskier met Geralt’s eyes, nearly as bright as the crystals above them. “Let’s go home.”

**Author's Note:**

> 1 buttercups — Riches  
> dandelions — Faithful to thee // Love's oracle  
> daffodils — Chivalry // New beginnings  
> [return to text]
> 
> 2 mountain ash — With me you are safe // I watch over you  
> crepis — Protection  
> traveller's joy — Safety  
> larkspur — Swiftness  
> oak — Bravery  
> bay laurel — Glory // Victory  
> [return to text]
> 
> 3 buttercups — Riches  
> dandelions — Faithful to thee // Love's oracle  
> forget-me-nots — Remembrance // True love  
> columbine — Resolved to win // I cannot resign thee  
> speedwell — Fidelity  
> rose campion — Only deserve my love  
> heliotrope — Devotion // Faithfulness // I adore you  
> coreopsis — Love at first sight // Always cheerful  
> [return to text]
> 
> 4 dame's rocket — Here I fix my choice  
> eglantine — I wound to heal  
> white catchfly — I fall into the trap laid for me // Betrayed  
> virgin's bower — Filial affection // Artifice  
> grass — Submission  
> buttercups — Childishness  
> [return to text]
> 
> 5 forget-me-nots — Remembrance // True love  
> pennyroyal — Flee away!  
> lavender — Distrust  
> [return to text]


End file.
